


Neighbourhood Whore

by Lady_s_Daughter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, But he's way to young to say yes, Canonical Child Abuse, Cross-Posted on Adult FanFiction, Dirty Talk, Don't Like Don't Read, Dubious Consent, Extremely Underage, First Time(s), Harry doens't say no, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Or do and be traumatised, Oral Sex, Originally Posted on Adult Fanfiction, Rimming, Seriously he's 7, There’s way more but I’ll add as it comes, This is fanfiction, Underage Sex, sex for favours
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 08:16:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14911751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_s_Daughter/pseuds/Lady_s_Daughter
Summary: A nice (or not so nice) man from Privet Drive realises Harry is not being taken care of. He offers meals and protection (for a price of course) and Harry is ecstatic.This is a response to Guest_InAMood_’s prompt “Little Prostitute Harry”





	1. A hand for a hand

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case the tags weren't enough, in this fanfiction there is sex. Lots of gay sex, underage and seriously underage sex (Slash/yaoi and shota-con). We are talking about a six, nearly seven years old having sex for favours - if this bothers you there are other beautiful ffs out there.  
> There’ll be kinks, some of the ones requested by Guest_InAMood_ are: daddy kink, public sex, videotaping of a minor in unsavoury positions, etc. Plus cross-dressing, dirty talking, size kink, etc. will pop up without a doubt. I'll add to the tags as they make their way into the story.  
> Consider yourself warned and enjoy.

Harry reached up to wipe away sweat from his forehead.  
  
He tried very hard not to look up, he had work to do, he needed to finish weeding before his aunt came home. He couldn’t slack off just because Vernon and Dudley were out a week, “male bonding”.  
  
But it was so frustrating! He knew that if he were to look up he would find Mr Holmes staring at him. It was days the man of n. 3 watched him while he did his chores, and it was a bit unsettling; aunt Petunia didn’t want the neighbours asking about him. To be truthful, Harry didn’t want that either, it was better for everyone when the Dursleys could pretend he didn’t exist.  
  
Harry clenched his fists, his right arm hurt right above the elbow, where uncle Vernon grabbed him too tight the day before; but he needed to –  
  
“Hey, kid.” Harry started. Mr Holmes was there, leaning against the wall and staring at him with strange intensity.  
  
Harry bounced on his feet and shrugged grass off his hands. “Can I help you, sir?”  
  
The man squared him. “Maybe you could. How are you?”  
  
“I’m f-“  
  
“Don’t lie to me. I know your arm’s been bothering you. Come with me and we’ll see what can be done.” Harry backed off a step. “Come on, kid, I wouldn’t gain anything from hurting you.”  
  
“My aunt-“  
  
“If I know Mrs Whiteman’s tea parties any, she won’t be done for hours.” Harry grimaced.  
  
“Interrupting’s rude, you know? Sir.”  
  
The man nearly grinned. It was nothing more than a slight upturn of his lip and a sparkle in his eyes, but still a change from his usual impassiveness.  
  
“Let’s go,” Mr Holmes didn’t waste time composing himself and offered Harry his hand. He seemed ready to take off to n. 3, uncaring of Harry‘s reputation in the neighbourhood and common social niceties.  
  
Harry breathed deeply, shrugged mentally and took his hand. After all, what could this man do, that Uncle Vernon didn’t already?  
  
They crossed the street and arrived right in front of Mr Holmes’ porch. Harry noticed that the garden, while not untidy, wasn’t really taken care of in the obsessive way Aunt Petunia demanded.  
  
When they were right in front of the door, and Mr Holmes was ready to fish out the keys from his pocket, Harry stopped dead in his tracks. The man interrupted his search and turned to look at the child. Harry was trying really hard not to shake, didn’t even know why his body was having the urge to.  
  
“What are we going to do?” Mr Holmes stared at him intently.  
  
“As I said, we’re going to look at that arm of yours. Then an early dinner, perhaps?”  
  
The man’s eyes didn’t leave the child’s for a long moment.  
  
He put his hand on Harry’s shoulder calmly, squeezed and let go in a matter of seconds. “Then maybe we can talk.”  
  
Harry was a little more relaxed, but when Mr Holmes actually opened the door and made to step inside his body refused to move. The man looked at Harry just briefly before leaning in and picking the child up. He was so tiny and light he just had to hold him tight.  
  
Mr Holmes stepped inside quickly and closed the door behind them but didn’t let Harry down.  
  
Harry was just shocked. He wasn’t fearful at all, for whatever reason, and he didn’t know what the normal response to being held inside a stranger’s house was, so he didn’t even bother to question it when the only feeling he could discern inside himself was warmth. He thought it strange, but the whole situation was strange, he was strange, and maybe even Mr Holmes was. Unlike his relatives, he didn’t seem to have any qualms about touching him and was, in fact, stroking his back.  
  
It felt nice, but Harry didn’t know if it should because he hadn’t felt anything like that before.  
  
He just went with it and didn’t question it when Mr Holmes sat him on a nice couch before kneeling in front of him on the carpeted floor.  
  
“Would you prefer to take your shirt off, or just hold your sleeve up for me?”  
  
Harry didn’t say anything and just stared at the near stranger for a bit before rolling his right sleeve up his arm till his shoulder, exposing a purple livid about the size of a big hand.  
  
Mr Holmes spent only a second feeling around the bruise to make sure there wasn’t anything more concerning.  
  
“Well, there’s nothing really wrong here, except for the beast who did this to you,” the man said leaning back to sit on his haunches.  
  
Harry didn’t understand it. Beast? It was just his uncle.  
  
“Now, what would you like to eat?” Harry started a little from his thoughts and he felt the hand on his knee was a little strange, but didn’t say anything.  
  
“You don’t need to feed me, sir,” murmured. He lowered his eyes and stared at that hand, curled around his thigh.  
  
“Nonsense. I’m thinking pasta, if you would be amenable?”  
  
“O-of course. Sir.”  
  
“Great.” Mr Holmes heaved himself to his feet resting a little of his weight on Harry, then offered him a hand and didn’t let go till they were in the kitchen. There he just left Harry on a chair and went to work, never asking Harry to step in.  
  
Mr Holmes was being really nice, making him dinner and letting him rest even if he was just a kid from his neighbourhood.  
  
He was an average kind of man, with brown hair, brown eyes, a little bend in his nose and a serious face. Harry didn’t know what kind of job Mr Holmes had. He seemed fit, unlike his uncle, but Harry didn’t really listen when Aunt Petunia went on about the neighbours, maybe if he had, he would have known why Mr Holmes was being nice with him.  
  
When Mr Holmes was done, he set the table sparsely. They spoke little during supper.  
  
Once they were both done, Mr Holmes left the dishes in the sink and picked Harry up again.  
  
Harry let his feet dangle idly, a bit embarrassed but strangely pleased by the close proximity.  
  
Mr Holmes took him to the hall and sat on the couch with Harry sideway on his lap. The boy felt blood rush up his cheeks and stammered a bit trying to explain he wasn’t a baby, but Mr Holmes didn’t let a complete word leave his mouth and started shushing him. He was again stroking his back, shoulders and hips, but it didn’t really seem so strange to Harry anymore after a dinner filled with soft touches seemingly out of nowhere.  
  
“Does it bother you, when I touch you?” Harry shivered in his light, long-sleeved shirt and debated how to answer.  
  
“...Not really.” Mr Holmes mmhed.  
  
“And did you enjoy our dinner?”  
  
“Yes, of course!” Harry was fast to reassure his host and nearly vibrated with the need to make this man understand how much he appreciated it. “It was great and I thank you very much, sir!”  
  
“You are most certainly welcome,” Mr Holmes went from his hip to his thigh without pause or hesitance. “Let’s put it this way, I did something nice for you, and I would be amenable doing the same again, if you would be a good boy and do something nice for me too?” Mr Holmes had a carefully manufactured mask of casual thoughtfulness but overall indifference, and it just made Harry want to please him more.  
  
“I would sir, of course I would! I’d like to repay you but I don’t have-“  
  
“Sssh, child, you have everything you need to please me. Maybe you could slip off this dirty shirt for a while?” He said, calm as you please, pulling said shirt a bit between his fingers, before Harry jumped off his lap and got rid of the shirt in short term. He froze then, wiggling his hands and not really sure whether to get on Mr Holmes again or stand around awkwardly.  
  
The man took it off his hands when he just leaned in and grabbed his left wrist before pulling him on his lap and restarting to pet him right away.  
  
He caressed his way on the bony limbs, massaging and pinching gently all over his chest, shoulders and back. Harry couldn’t keep himself from giggling when the man passed his long fingers over his belly. Mr Holmes didn’t seem to mind, he started rocking slightly on the spot, thrusting faintly up on Harry, who was just soaking up all the attention, the human contact and the caresses. He suddenly felt touch-starved.  
  
“Come on, kid, let’s get this off,” he breathed, tugging at Harry’s old and too big trousers.  
  
Harry wormed his way out of them without leaving the other’s warmth, then dared rest his arms around the man’s wide shoulders, feeling empowered when he wasn’t just shrugged off.  
  
Mr Holmes unbuttoned his own trousers and pulled them down a bit, enough to let him do the same with his boxer shorts, exposing hard, erect flesh that instantly caught Harry’s attention.  
  
“What-?” Mr Holmes just took his right hand in his and put it on his shaft.  
  
“It would bring me great pleasure if you’d just...” He took a breath longer than others, “Touch it, like this, grip it a bit.”  
  
Harry was a bit weirded out, but he was more curious than anything else so he tried his best to make Mr Holmes sigh in that way that sounded pleased.  
  
So the kid gripped the hard, kinda wet flesh with both his hands and just went up and down while Mr Holmes petted him and murmured “Good boy, that’s a good boy” under his breath. It was strange, because Harry didn’t feel anything more than accomplishment and curiosity, while Mr Holmes seemed way more into it, panting a bit and sweating. Harry felt every breath on his neck and between his hair, and his body was jolted by Mr Holmes' every movement... When his chest rose, when his pelvis thrust up, when he gripped Harry tighter and held him close.  
  
Harry studied him from under his lashes when the man tensed up, a hiccup in his breath, before he let go and some white, sticky stuff shot out of that and landed on his hands and even on his belly.  
  
Mr Holmes totally relaxed then, leaning against the back of the couch and loosening his grip on Harry, recovering his breath in mere seconds.  
  
“Was that good, then?”  
  
“Yes Harry, that was most certainly good.”  
  
Harry felt awkward then, not knowing what to do while Mr Holmes basked in the afterglow. He tried to be subtle, rubbing his hands together hoping to clean them a little, but Mr Holmes took them between his own and breathed deeply.  
  
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” The man was again focused on him with that strange intensity.  
  
He tugged Harry to his feet, looked at him for the longest time before doing up his own trousers and getting up.  
  
He lead Harry up the stairs and into a bathroom, where he wet a towel and rubbed it gently on Harry’s hands, then on Harry’s chest and belly, and when the child was as clean as he could get they returned to the hall, where Mr Holmes made Harry put on his clothes before leading him to the Dursleys’ home.  
  
“Would you dine with me tomorrow?” Mr Holmes asked, leaning against his house’s wall like earlier in the afternoon. Harry snapped his head up from where he was again kneeling on the grass, near his aunt’s flowers.  
  
“I can come again?” For whatever reason Mr Holmes got a little smirk on his lips.  
  
“Of course. I actually insist.” His smirk relaxed into a smile when Harry bobbed his head frantically with an elated expression.  
  
The man leaned down and ruffled Harry’s hair before leaving to return home, missing the baffled, hopeful expression on the kid’s face after that little gesture.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reader asked me to post this on Ao3 as well, and here I am. It's the second anniversary of this story, and I'm only at the 8th chapter, so you can guess how slow I am. Read at your own risk ^^'  
> I always post on the 12th so you'll have a chapter per month until I run out of things already written (or you can go read this on AFF), unless a reviewer *really* wants me to post before that, in which case I just may.  
> I've never gotten flames of any kind for this and I'd like to keep this nice streak, but if I can't that's fine, they don't bother me any. If, instead, a reviewer really wants to help me (constructive criticism et similia) please do!, without being rude, if at all possible.  
> I answer all comments, but in case you want to stay updated or ask me questions without reviewing, I'm here --> http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/63461-neighbourhood-whore-reviews-replies/  
> and here -> http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/topic/63460-neighbourhood-whore/  
> Now the only thing left to do is write a comment! ;)  
> L'D


	2. To strike a deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mention it or anything but to post this chapter before the 12th of July I had this goal of 3 reviews and 50 between kudos and bookmarks. And that's exactly what I got! Thanks, guys ^^  
> Enjoy!

Harry really thought it was nothing short of miraculous, that he managed to finish weeding before Aunt Petunia came home. For while it was true that Mrs Whiteman’s teas were known to last hours, it just seemed way more luck than he was usually granted.  
  
Once home, Petunia checked his work on the backyard and yanked him inside. She had no praise to spare, and the kid didn’t expect her to. But she gave him bread to bring into his cupboard and water from the sink - extremely nice of her.  
  
They didn’t exchange words other than “Go to the cupboard, boy” and “Yes aunt Petunia”, and that was it for the night.  
  
Harry scrammed back into the little, dark cupboard under the stairs with a piece of bread clutched between his hands and his throat barely soothed by the previous drink.  
  
It was only seated on the ratty bed, munching on the bread, that he realised he wasn’t hungry. It happened so rarely, Harry nearly ate the bread out of habit. But, no, this time he could save it.  
  
He balled up on his bed and closed his eyes, rubbing his full belly in dazed bliss.  
  
For the first time since school ended, he was clean and fed; it wouldn’t be a hardship to fall asleep, to ignore the spiders and the strange tingling on his skin. He didn’t care if he felt empty, when his stomach was full.  


The day after started just like every other morning, Harry was woken by his aunt’s fist on the little door and put to work right away.  
  
Aunt Petunia didn’t have uncle Vernon and Dudley to feed anymore, and it reflected in the way she ordered just eggs for breakfast, without setting the table. While Harry cooked, she went outside to check on the flowers for lack of better things to do.  
  
Harry was just breaking the eggs in the pan when he heard muffled voices from outside.  
  
“Mrs Dursley! A pleasure as always.” Mr Holmes said with sunny disposition, closing in on the little side garden without stepping too close, a little wary of the unclear boundaries between neighbours.  
  
Petunia left the roses to themselves and greeted Mr Holmes with one of those polite, if fake, smiles.  
  
“Oh, the same Mr Holmes,” Mr Holmes discretely coughed and forced the conversation on.  
  
“And how is Mr Dursley? It’s entirely too much we don’t have a little get-together.” He said, grasping for polite topics of small talk before steering the conversation where he wanted.  
  
“Ah yes, my husband is well, he took a week to bring Dudley in the nature, camping and a bit of male bonding, I’m sure you understand.”  
  
“Of course, of course... And, say, your nephew stayed home?” He tried to be as casual as possible, but, as usual, at the slightest mention of the other boy in her house, the woman adopted an icy attitude.  
  
“He did.”  
  
“Such a dear, helping you out with the house.”  
  
“Yes.” The conversation seemed suddenly stifling. Mr Holmes decided to cut the charade short and get to the point.  
  
“Could he, maybe, spare a moment of your time to help me out? I understand he’s a bit of a handful if he isn’t given something to occupy his hands.” Petunia seemed to loosen up a little, when it was made clear her neighbour realised what a hooligan the boy really was.  
  
“I’m afraid so. Despite our best efforts, you know? Too much like his dead father... How could he help you?”  
  
“I need to move some furniture.” He decided to throw in something that would appease the woman’s curiosity, “I was hoping to do a little renovating, you see, and two young arms would surely take a burden off my own shoulders.”  
  
“The boy is just having breakfast, I’ll go call him for you, if you’d like an early start?” The barest hint of a smirk made its way onto his lips.  
  
“If you would be so amenable, I’d owe you.” He smiled more openly. She conceded him another glance just for politeness’ sake and made her way inside.  
  
Harry jerked back in motion when he realized his aunt was coming for him. He scrambled the eggs one more time to make himself look busy. He didn’t have time to do anything else before his aunt got inside, turned off the fire quickly, and grabbed his arm tightly with her sharp nails. She glared down at him and hissed menacingly,  
  
“You are going to help our respectable neighbour and no funny business if you know what’s good for you! Understood?”  
  
She shook him a couple of times for good measure while he tried to nod. The woman seemed to want nothing more than yank him outside, but she paused.  
  
“Did you change your shirt?” The boy froze like a deer in headlights for a fraction of a second before nodding with all his energy. His aunt then proceeded to mutter unintelligibly under her breath before dragging him out back and in front of Mr Holmes. The man was waiting patiently, leaning on the wall just like the day before.  
  
Mr Holmes smiled at the woman and covertly winked at the kid.  
  
“And this must be Harry.” The statement was casual, but it made Harry’s heart jump – the man just called him by his name.  
  
Aunt Petunia pushed him forward a little, “Yes.” Her lips were pursed and she held herself tight, Mr Holmes pretended not to notice and extended a hand for Harry to take.  
  
His aunt loosened her grip on his arm, so he moved closer to their neighbour, but didn’t take his hand.  
  
Harry felt Mr Holmes’ eyes on him even with his head bowed.  
  
“Ok,” the man breezed. Then he looked up to Petunia and smiled again, “I’ll bring him back in no time.”  
  
She curved her lips as well, “Don’t rush on my account.”  
  
It was all very proper and polite. The adults exchanged some more meaningless good wishes before Mr Holmes put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and dismissed them both, “Well kid, let’s go. Things to do.”  
  
He directed the boy across the street and toward his own house.  
  
He walked at Harry’s speed despite being used to longer strides, with his head held high and the littlest hint of a smirk in his eyes. His right hand hadn’t left the boy’s shoulder and was tightening and loosening randomly on Harry’s skin, causing shivers to run up and down the kid’s back.  
  
Then he spoke softly.  
  
“Is she still watching us?”  
  
Harry felt confusion like ice down his back at first, but figured out what the man meant soon enough. He tried to be sneaky, not turning around but looking out the corner of his eye. “She is.”  
  
“Figures.” Mr Holmes covertly tsked. He didn’t seem pleased and Harry had to fight to breathe.  
  
They were soon at the door and Mr Holmes opened it hurriedly.  
  
Inside, he didn’t waste time picking up Harry. His right forearm slotted under the kid’s butt, while with his left hand he made sure Harry’s legs were tight around his midsection. He embraced the child without hesitation and started rubbing his back and lightly stroking his hair.  
  
The man lowered his head to press a few close-mouthed kisses on the child’s shoulder and neck. He breathed deeply on the tender skin before talking.  
  
“Are you sure this doesn’t bother you?”  
  
Harry was nearly hiding in the man’s much bigger frame. After understanding that it was ok to hug, he circled his arms around the Mr Holmes’ neck, pressing his head in his strong shoulder. He had never felt so warm, and loved, and he couldn’t believe his neighbour was giving him kisses. He nearly shook, with how overjoyed he felt. He didn’t even lift his head to murmur,  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Mr Holmes kept petting the child all over.  
  
“Let me know if it does.” That made Harry lift his head. He became a little hesitant, unsure why Mr Holmes made such a big deal of it but not going to ask.  
  
The man seemed to sense the unexpressed confusion and moved to the living room, where he sat on the couch with the kid on his lap. He put a hand on Harry’s bony knees and looked him in the eyes.  
  
“If we just hugged it would be fine, but there are certain things... that usually adults do. Games that adults like. I worry you’re a little young, but you seem so mature for your age...” Every pause calculated and allusive.  
  
Harry’s eyes widened dramatically and he sucked in a big breath - he couldn’t believe an adult just said something nice about him! He let his breath out all in one go,  
  
“I am! I swear! ‘m not both’red at all.”  
  
A big smile curved Mr Holmes’ lips and Harry felt like he had finally done something right. The man even started petting him again!  
  
“That’s good then. Good boy.” He bowed his head to lay kisses on the kid’s messy hair. His left arm was wrapped around the lean back, his right hand caressed the skinny thighs, first lightly, just soft, long strokes. In little time he started gripping at the meagre flesh, filling his big hand with the youngster’s supple thigh.  
  
Harry let him. The kid lied there, scrawny arms around the man’s chest, softly breathing on his shirt and happy to be given such positive attention for the first time of his life. He didn’t mind at all the hand on the back of his neck or the one up his leg, he focused on the little kisses the man laid on his hair and face, on his cheeks, on his nose and on his eyes. He was so happy he could have cried.  
  
Mr Holmes was nearly getting high on the kid’s innocence. He thought he could just go ahead and take everything, but he was patient enough not to ruin this child.  
  
He kept running his hands all over and relished in the total abandon with which little Harry encountered his every touch. He kissed the child on a slim cheek, then just moved a little to press his slightly open lips on the kid’s smiling ones.  
  
Harry opened his eyes. He wasn’t shocked or weirded out, just vaguely curious.  
  
The man didn’t rest on it and kissed him full on the mouth again.  
  
Around them the air had warmed up, they were breathing each other in. Harry tightened his grip on the other while the man claimed his mouth slowly, cleverly; bit after bit he opened the child’s lips with his own and let their saliva mingle. Then he backed off a little.  
  
“Isn’t this nice?”  
  
Harry barely opened his eyes, nodding meekly, “Ah-ah.”  
  
Mr Holmes smiled once more and kept kissing the child, while his left hand caressed his back, and neck, and shoulders, and his right one just went on and felt everything up, slithering on the inner thigh and back again, from knee to hip.  
  
He couldn’t help himself and soon he started jerking his hips back and forth. The bulge on the front of his trousers barely grazed the kid’s right thigh, but he had no more self-control left to keep playing nice. He just grabbed both the kid’s hips and lifted him up, adjusting his legs so the kid was now seated astride his lap.  
  
Harry didn’t protest at all, just wiggled to get more comfortable; while Mr Holmes took complete advantage of the new position, running his hands all over the kid’s pliable bum. That way, every time he thrust his pelvis up, he rutted on the child’s junk or inner thigh.  
  
He couldn’t believe how close he was just by this. So he brought his hands to his own lap and opened his trousers. He pushed them and his boxers down just enough to let his already hard cock out, while the kid watched with his lower lip between his teeth.  
  
Mr Holmes fought to regain his breath,  
  
“Harry – Could you... hold this for me?” He couldn’t help stroking himself a couple times while the kid lowered his hands with childish determination.  
  
The first contact was bliss. And the kid obviously remembered the day before quite well, because it didn’t take long for him to start moving his hands up and down.  
  
The man stared a bit, then tightened his hold on Harry’s thighs and let his head fall back on the headrest, not caring for the strangled sounds that left his throat, just closing his eyes and letting the kid do all the work.  
  
And Harry was so good, rubbing his little, clumsy hands on his erection and bouncing on his thighs when he put all his weight behind the strokes. The pleasure waves were all-encompassing.  
  
It was over all too soon, but the sight of his little neighbour covered in hot sperm was worth everything. But, damn, that marks on his shirt would be hard to explain.  
  
Mr Holmes breathed deeply once more, rewarded the kid with another kiss and a pat on the head before melting in the couch to fully enjoy his orgasm. Everything else could come later, he thought, as the child leaned on his chest and snuggled close. Later sounded good.  
  



	3. Discussing the terms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love shown to this story, you're wonderful!  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter too ^^

Mr Holmes stroke Harry’s back, while the pleasure tingling in his body subsided. He hugged the kid close, trying to murmur praises even while the press of that soft skin on his fought to keep the sensations running at full strength through his organism. 

They stayed cuddled on the couch for the longest time. Harry neared the edges of sleep more than once while Mr Holmes hummed satisfied.

Then Harry shacked off the laziness that tried to settle over his limbs and lifted his head from the man’s chest.

He looked at the man’s open features closely for a while, stalling. He didn’t really want to do this but he thought it would be better than wasting time. Mr Holmes seemed absolutely relaxed and comfortable, so it was likely there wouldn’t be a better time.

“Sir...” He whispered. The man hmed in response.

“Should I start tidying up or moving something?” He spoke softly and carefully, a bit wary of questioning the man. The hand on his back interrupted its aimless caressing and Harry thought the worst. Was the man angry at him now? Was it because he asked a question? He didn’t really think Mr Holmes would react badly, from his meagre observations... Could he have miscalculated so greatly?

But when Mr Holmes opened his eyes he didn’t look angry, even if Harry couldn’t recognise the expression. The man looked at him and started stroking him again.

“What? No, Harry. No, that was merely an excuse. You don’t have to work.”

The kid looked at Mr Holmes in confusion.

“But then-“ Mr Holmes took a deep breath and Harry understood he should wait.

“Let’s get some food in ourselves first, alright?” The man helped the child move from up his lap to the floor, keeping an arm around him until the youngest was feeling his legs again.

Harry was grateful for the help, he didn’t realize how shaky his legs would be until he actually relied on them. He fought his first instinct of lowering his head and waiting for orders, choosing to stare at the man from under his lashes instead, observing him more and trying to get enough about his character to foresee his reactions, like he learned to do at the Dursley’s.

So he saw how Mr Holmes took notice of his own dishevelled state and zipped himself up quickly; before the man’s eyes focused on the dry streaks of stuff on his shirt, and he was suddenly hit with thoughts of aunt Petunia and her wooden spoon.

Before he could get himself worked up about it, Mr Holmes interrupted his train of thought,

“Are you uncomfortable with that dirty shirt on?”

Harry berated himself once more for not doing something to prevent such a mess and shook his head, his face all scrunched up.

Mr Holmes made a show of studying the child.

“I think you are. Come on, let’s take that off.” He pulled the kid between his legs, sneaking his hands snugly inside the too big shirt, before asking Harry to lift his arms, and undressing him without a problem.

He allowed himself only a few seconds to enjoy the view of the scrawny, prepubescent chest, before he too got on his feet, easily disregarding the dirtied shirt on the armrest of the couch, decided to make good on his resolve to feed the kid.

Mr Holmes held his little hand, guiding him to the kitchen where the kid sat on the same seat as the day before. Then he fished some baked beans left-overs from the fridge and just put the whole plate on the table with a spoon and toast. He poured himself a cup of tea before sitting down in front of Harry.

The kid didn’t move, though, just staring at Mr Holmes from under his too-long bangs.

The man peacefully sipped his tea before addressing the fact.

“I already ate.”

It was strange having to reassure a kid this way, and for Harry it was stranger still – having someone explain their behaviour to him.

He was hesitant in picking up the spoon, sneaking glances at the man every few seconds to make sure it was alright. Mr Holmes was not exactly sure on how to respond, so he pretended not to notice, seemingly captivated by his steaming cup. Harry started eating after a little while.

He lowered his head and hoped the man wouldn’t take away this meal – even if he didn’t seem to have any intention to, which was weird all on its own.

It was the second time this man opened his house to him, gave him food and let him cuddle on the couch. The only similar experience Harry had had was with old Mrs Figg. But his aunt always made a great fuss over having to ask the woman to keep him, and she only gave him hard biscuits and didn’t let him nap on the couch. Not that Harry was too keen on doing that, with all the cat hair.

But this man didn’t want him to help around the house. Maybe he was too young to have back pain like Mrs Figg?

Harry tried to keep eating what he had been offered. But he already felt full from the night before and it was proving to be more difficult than he thought. He wasn’t used to back-to-back meals and even if he didn’t want anything more than stuffing himself he was wary of eating so much more than what he was usually allowed.

The man stared at Harry while the kid flimsily munched on the lightly honeyed toast, seemingly lost in the deepest of thoughts. When those big, green eyes looked at him, he put his cup of tea down to address the younger.

“I don’t need you to work.” The kid startled, frozen in the act of biting off a little more toast.

“I don’t know what you do at the Dursleys’, but I want this.” The man left his hands around the cup and his features didn’t betray anything. “I live here alone and I’d like for you to keep me company.”

Harry wasn’t used to asking questions, he picked up moods and hints from body language. But he spent years focusing on two people who loathed him with every word and gesture and this calmness was not at all what he came to be comfortable with.

He wasn’t sure if an answer was required of him, so he just tried to keep these musings to himself and keep eating. When the man noticed he couldn’t force himself to swallow a bite more, though, he swiftly put everything away before sitting in his chair, distanced from the table just enough to make space for a six-year-old.

“Do you want to come sit on my lap?” Harry seemed suddenly fear stricken and Mr Holmes decided to change approach. He wanted the kid comfortable with him but it looked like giving him too many liberties wouldn’t accomplish that. He extended a hand in Harry’s direction.

“Come sit on my lap. I’ll explain.” The tiny child then hopped from his chair and neared him with little steps and a bowed head. The man coaxed him closer and closer until he could loosely wrap his arms around the vaguely trembling body.

“Sshh. Hey, sshh.” He hoped to be reassuring, petting the child’s neck like he seemed to favour and restraining himself from letting his other hand wander.  
The child didn’t take long to re-centre himself and Mr Holmes was sincerely surprised about his own restraint, he waited until Harry was calm and abandoned against his chest before giving into his urges and starting to pet the kid like he was just an oversized cat. Not that the little one had anything against it, the man nearly expected him to start purring, really. It played perfectly with Mr Holmes’ own likes.

“Wouldn’t you like it, to come to my house and keep me company?” Harry had his hands in tight fists on the man’s shirt and hesitated just a little before nodding in the large chest.

Mr Holmes took a deep breath, tightening his hold around Harry’s midsection before capitulating and just heaving the boy up to let him sit across his thighs.

Harry was very nearly trembling. He couldn’t fathom how this could be real, and feeling someone embracing him was the best sensation he had ever experienced in his nearly seven years of life. He was hesitant, and not completely comfortable just yet, but for the first time since he could remember he felt almost... cared for. Mr Holmes’ chest was solid under him, he could hear the man’s heart beating and he didn’t even get told off when he clenched the man’s nice shirt between his fists. It was calm and peaceful, and he soaked all that up, rejoicing in the protection and affection so easily offered. The hand around his back was steady and firm, while the one carding through his hair softer and placating. 

He could get used to this faster than he got used to his uncles’ rules and that scared him. But it was all too nice to let go.

 

 

Mr Holmes took Harry home after 2 p.m. It may not have been the most prudent thing to do, but he hadn’t set a time with Mrs Dursley, rather foolishly he admitted, and he couldn’t refrain from trying to feed the boy at least once more before returning him to his aunt. Even if the kid struggled to swallow the littlest pieces of chicken, it was still one more meal, and so it could only help. Furthermore, it gave the man just enough time to assuage Harry’s reactions. After all, it wouldn’t do to scare the kid off. He didn’t lie when talking to the child, his company was pleasurable indeed, and now that he had had a taste, he couldn’t let himself mess this chance up in anyway. The child was perfect, demure and eager to please, but more convenient still, his guardians didn’t care about him.

Everyone in the neighbourhood knew that while Dudley was the pupil of his parents’ eyes, Harry was considered little more than a charity case they got straddled with.  
Anyway, he was now ready to let go of the child. He handed back the T-shirt that got dirty after their little... cuddling on the couch. He cleaned it with haste after the little meltdown in the kitchen. The day was warm and the shirt took very little time to dry once put on the windowsill, but he chose to enjoy the little kid running half-naked in his house a little more, instead of giving the rag back right away. Once the child was dressed, Mr Holmes patted his head and gave a half-hearted try at taming that ridiculous mop of hair by passing his fingers through the surprisingly knot-free mass. 

He stopped before that petting could lead to another kind. It was time to get him back home and distractions wouldn’t do.

The boy had retracted a little into himself, letting his head hang low and leaning into the man’s touch like it could be the last time. Mr Holmes wouldn’t have minded keeping the boy another hour or more, but while jeopardizing his chances with the boy would be awful, doing so with Mrs Dursley would be just as bad if not worse. They were already  
pushing it, seeing as this was the first official ‘borrowing’ of the kid’s services on his part.

So he took the little hand into his own, and at last opened the front door to let the young boy through.

Crossing the road to get to the Dursleys’ home was rather anticlimactic, once all was said and done. They reached the totally ordinary door in no time, and Harry barely had time to quell a little grimace before Mr Holmes rang the bell.

They could barely make out the sound of shoes tapping on the inside and Petunia was opening the door.

The adults greeted each other with smiles that didn’t look natural at all, and Petunia pulled Harry inside before opening the necessary round of small talk, asking if all was well.

“He was most useful.” Mr Holmes kept up his smile for the woman and winked at Harry. Petunia either didn’t notice or elected to ignore the action, leaning quite happily on the door and offering Harry’s time whenever the man may necessitate it.

Surprisingly, or maybe not, Harry didn’t really mind.

 

 


	4. Reaping the Benefits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, was there a problem with chapter 3 or something? I’m kinda sad no one reviewed ^^’ though I know a lot of people like this story because of the kudos.  
> Well, here’s another chapter,  
> Enjoy!

After a couple of days of smoothing the kinks and getting used to each other’s presence and character (and convincing Petunia the boy was worked to the bone in Mr Holmes’ house), both man and boy were quite comfortable in their newfound routine. 

In fact, Harry started to spend most of his time at n. 3, almost seamlessly. When Vernon and Dudley got back from camp four days later, going to Mr Holmes’ was already an accepted part of his days, and neither had anything to say outside Vernon’s snorting “his problem now”.

A week into his new routine, he woke up in his cupboard to his aunt rapping on the little door as usual, but was much more light hearted while he made breakfast for his relatives (Vernon and Dudley had returned not an ounce lighter and more hungry than ever), tidied up what needed tidying and finally made his way to Mr. Holmes' (the man stopped picking him up after the official third day), where he spent lazy hours in the man's arms. He was fed more than he remembered ever being fed – mid-morning breakfast, lunch, something before leaving and snacks every time the man thought he could use it (the man had said he could ask... But he never dared).  
He still had to work at his uncles', but it was altogether more bearable when he was... pampered in such a way for most of his woken hours.

After nearly two weeks of this, he got that Mr Holmes was nice, and wouldn't begrudge him for asking questions, but habits are hard to break and when they talked it was mostly Mr Holmes holding conversation, telling him all sorts of things – mostly about plants or food or Mr Holmes' siblings. Most of their time, though, was spent on the couch, where Mr Holmes liked to lounge with an armful of naked six years old.

It was a really warm summer, so Harry welcomed the relief of not having to wear Dudley's heavy cast-offs, and, of course, he couldn't begrudge Mr Holmes for enjoying the same liberty. The man admitted he felt more comfortable in just his slacks, so that was the only thing he wore around the house. Harry, against his own better judgment, found himself very curious about the shape of a man not at all overweight, and would often catch himself staring, of all things! But Mr Holmes only chuckled softly when he got red from shame, and Harry couldn't even feel like he was being made fun of, because then the man would caress his hair, and he liked that more than he thought you could like something. 

Mr Holmes seemed to like it too.

Right now, they were in their preferred positions on the couch – Mr Holmes sat with his legs spread and his back abandoned against the cushions, and Harry comfortably perched sideways on his left leg. The man had one arm on the back of the couch, and the other loosely held Harry's midriff. 

The boy watched the expressions playing on the other's face closely, while his palm worked the hard member in his grasp with the same curious zeal the kid applied to every one of their encounters. Every now and then the man would breath louder, and so Harry knew he liked it.  
At that moment, a little shiver ran on his back. All windows were firmly closed, but Harry could swear the cold fought his way in just to lick between his shoulder blades.

Luckily, Mr Holmes never quit caressing his back with a large hand, and that had the blood rushing through his body. The man was now moaning under him. At first, seeing this big man come undone scared him – when the pleasure took him, he groaned and flexed his fingers on Harry's hips or thighs in a way that left tiny, purple fingertips on his skin for a couple of minutes.

But now, after less than two weeks, it felt almost nice. Apart from the physical aspect of it, that he always enjoyed (such closeness as that which he experienced in Mr Holmes' home was previously foreign to him), he could now appreciate and treasure the feelings that ran through him every time the man let go so completely of his restrictions. Right now, he could feel that Mr Holmes was close: the member between his fingers was twitching and seemed to strain to grow further in thickness. What's more, the man brought his right arm from the back of the couch to the kid's thighs and started fondling the supple flesh of one.

Watching the unadulterated pleasure on the usually composed face made a warm sensation take home low in his belly. As Mr Holmes massaged his thigh, the sensation got so good it was almost uncomfortable and Harry didn't know how to relieve himself. While Mr Holmes came all over his fingers, Harry started rocking back and forth almost subconsciously. He didn't know what was coming over him, but the feeling of Mr Holmes' very nice slacks rubbing the underside of his very naked thighs was both good and damning in his situation. 

Mr Holmes got down from his high to the sight of the little boy on his lap rocking back and forth, with a restless, uneasy expression on his young face and a very surprising reaction between his thighs. Through this, the boy still had his hands on the man's chest and manhood, though he stopped the pleasurable stroking.

Mr Holmes was oh so tempted to leave the boy whining and biting his lips in distress, not knowing what to do – the sight of the boy flushed red from his chest to his ears was terribly endearing and liable to excite him all over again. The squirming, the way the boy rubbed his thighs together and positively mewled were just too precious for words. But the man decided to put him out of his misery, so to say, and moved the boy so that his legs were spread open, on either side of the man's waist. The boy couldn't bite back a sob, finding himself deprived of even the smallest contact on his tiny prick, trying valiantly to fill out completely. Mr Holmes circled the kid's little waist with his arms to give him the craved contact. Harry let out a strangled breath and put his hands on the man shoulders, where they curled and scratched without finding a perch.

So the boy was displayed openly for him, pale, clammy with sweat and nearly delirious with a kind of desire he never felt before. And Mr Holmes was enjoying the spectacle. He was the only one with total access to the expanse of skin and after stroking the boy's warm chest, he zeroed on his scrawny ass. He palmed the globes with abandon, relishing in the mewling sounds and kissing the boy's chin and neck. And when the man slipped a finger on the boy's crack and Harry barely noticed, Mr Holmes took unashamed advantage of it. He got his digit right on the little pucker and pressed gently, then pulled a little with his hand on the boy's side and Harry started humping his stomach.

It was a bit like having a lapful of over-excited puppy and if that didn't make him feel like a dirty old man, nothing would.

He was already spent, it would be a little while before he could go again, but witnessing the first arousal of the kid was giving him a warm pleasure deep inside, and it was nearly as powerful as having his turgid cock stroked.

In just a couple of minutes, the boy went from pale and a little winded to flushing hotly and whimpering without pause. 

The man was caressing the boy's back and sides, but he wasn't touching where Harry really needed him to, so the boy was left trying to alleviate himself by humping the man. He couldn't control the sounds he made and his eyes wouldn't stay open, perspiration was making his forehead itchy but he couldn't have taken his hands off the man's shoulders even if inclined so. 

He soon reached his peak, not even realising what was going to happen before it did. He screamed, unable to deal quietly with the burning sensations coursing through his body for the first time ever.  
Harry probably blacked out for a time. He wasn't sure, but the first thing he remembered after the mind shattering experience that his body went through was being completely abandoned on Mr Holmes hot and sweaty chest, while the man pet him with this well-pleased smile curving his lips.  
They stayed in that exact position for a long time before Mr Holmes nudged him up and accompanied him upstairs so they could wash themselves. 

Harry was still a bit out of it. But Mr Holmes took care of him. He was always gentle with him. He washed himself off first, then took his time rubbing the wet towel over his shoulders and back, behind his neck, on his chest. It was slow and caring and intimate. At last, Mr Holmes deemed it enough and led Harry from the bathroom. Harry had tried to say he was big enough to wash himself after their first encounters, but he let it go when Mr Holmes admitted to him he enjoyed it. 

 

They were at the kitchen table, and Harry was enjoying his second breakfast of the day. Well, he was eating, but also thinking hard. He was feeling a little conflicted.

The child honestly enjoyed being petted, and Mr Holmes never looked like he minded... But after years at the Dursleys, he thought he should be a little more restrained, a little more able at going on without that kind of attention. Instead, he found himself wanting more and more. More of the soft-spoken flatter, more of those big hands on him, more of the attention and he didn't know if that made him needy or a baby. 

"What is it?" Harry released his bloodied bottom lip from between his teeth at Mr Holmes question but didn't raise his head. The man left the dirty dishes he refused help with in the sink and turned to take in the kid sitting at his kitchen table. He was a very pretty sight, still a little flushed and quick to drop his eyes in embarrassment. But it was clear he was thinking very hard about something, what with the hunched shoulders and his hands pressed on the chair under his thighs. He moved slowly and put a hand on Harry's head, to stop the child from squirming in his seat yet again.

Harry just started biting on his lip again, so Mr Holmes sat next to him.

"Harry, what is the matter? I promise I won't be mad, or laugh." He kept petting the child's hair until he turned to him. The indecision was clear in those cute eyes, but at last, he spoke.

"I... I like that." The man smiled.

"You do?"

The boy nodded shyly.

"Mind telling me what it is you like?" Heat coloured his cheeks.

"This." He gestured a little. "Being pet." He finally admitted looking at his lap.

"Well, that's just great, isn't it?" And it really was.

The boy was pretty touch starved, Mr Holmes noticed that right off, but having the child expressing his likes - and therefore his wants - was a big step. Mr Holmes would have to reward him. He looked from under his lashes.

"It is? Isn't it... childish?"

"Childish? Oh, sweetling, no, many people enjoy positive contact. It is a good thing really. I sure enjoy it!" You could see the room lighten up as the boy did. This was just perfect. The boy was practically perfect and Mr Holmes couldn't believe he found such a gem in this prissy suburb. The boy really deserved something nice. Usually, after their late breakfast, they would cuddle on the couch where Mr Holmes would have his wicked way with the kid (again), but maybe this time they could adjourn to a comfier place.

"I'm really happy you shared this with me, Harry."

The boy flushed with pleasure and was soon leaning into the man's touch shamelessly. Which Mr Holmes appreciated. "Did I let you look at my room yet? No? Well, we may as well do it now." The man stopped caressing the child just long enough to pick him up. He really didn't need to. But both enjoyed it, so he would. 

He walked up the stairs with the precious child in his arms, breathing softly against his neck, so ready to be debauched.


	5. Getting Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, you're wonderful, almost 100 bookmarks (even if some are private xD), 200 subscriptions and more than 200 kudos! And most of all I love every one of your reviews <3 I got three in one day for last chapter! To thank all of you, here's a blow-job! xD  
> Enjoy ^^

Harry didn't remember the last time he had been on a bed. For all he knew, this was the first time. If it was so, it was a very nice first time. The bed was just soft enough under him and he really liked that, even if he didn't have a lot to compare it to and he was pretty sure anything would be better than the cot in his cupboard. 

Anyway, the point was that it was nice. Even with Mr Holmes staring at him from the foot of the bed. It was a very charged stare, Harry could realise that, though he didn't know what it meant. He just knew he could feel the man's eyes caressing his whole body.

That should have probably made Harry at least a little nervous (being stared at didn't lead to anything good, in his experience), but Mr Holmes had been the one to put him on the bed, and the man was sporting a sort of half-smile that wasn't threatening at all. So, against his better judgment, Harry let himself relax and enjoy the moment. It wasn't nearly as hard as it should have been - the covers were cool and felt very good on his naked back; he didn't know when he would get to feel such a thing again.

He was mentally debating whether closing his eyes would be worth it, when the man went to unbutton his trousers. He made quick work of them and then of his boxers, and this was the first time Harry was in a position to see all of the man without any clothes on. He didn't have much time, though, because Mr Holmes got onto the bed and started closing in on Harry.

The boy felt just fleetingly uncomfortable: he banished the thought quickly, because he truly didn't think Mr Holmes would hurt him at this point, and he didn't want to be afraid of everything.

Mr Holmes crawled on the bed, and over the slim body, holding himself up on hands and knees as to not crush the boy. Then, once he was settled with his face mere inches from the kid's, he raised a hand, and gently pushed the boy’s hair away from his green eyes. This done, he didn't go for a kiss, as Harry expected and secretly hoped, but started talking.

"Did you like what happened downstairs?" Harry blushed, and instinctually ducked his head to hide behind his fringe, except he couldn't. Mr Holmes still had his hand in his hair, and when he noticed his predicament he only smile a little amusedly, which made Harry flush even more violently. "Hey, don't be ashamed. It's normal to feel good." As he talked, the man started lightly stroking his side and when he repeated his question, a moan was his sole answer. The man only smiled, a light in his eyes, "That's what I feel every time. Wouldn't you like to feel something even better?"

Harry closed his eyes in something that felt very close to shame, but wasn't. 

He couldn't hide. The man didn't have him bodily pinned to the bed, but he felt as if that were the case: completely exposed and vulnerable. It was a really base feeling, he wanted to turn away his head and protect his slightly hollow belly. Like an animal. But at the same time, he didn't want to, because memories of the moments before - the pleasure, the bliss - were still coursing through his limbs and he shook with phantom feelings.

He did want to feel that again. Even if he shouldn't. Just staying there like that, the man's whole attention focused on him and that big hand caressing his side (and his belly, his chest, sometimes his thigh), felt incredible, better than anything. Except... That small moment when everything whited out. He shouldn't ask for things...

But Mr Holmes kept stroking him and looking at him. The man never got mad, not like his uncle.

Harry felt on fire as he nodded. He didn't know if he was truly burning from the inside out or what, he was only sure he had never blushed quite so much in all the nearly seven years he'd been alive.

Mr Holmes kissed the fetching redness on his lithe chest, gripped the skinny hips and licked the small, rosy nipples until they hardened under his ministrations. At which point he left them, and went on to trace with his tongue the slight dip at the centre of the boy's chest, down towards his belly. Once satisfied of the damp traces on the boy’s skin, he looked up, only to see Harry staring back, lip bit nearly bloody and pupils so blown the black overran the green in his eyes.

The man smirked and kept going down, tracing his lips over the quivering belly, until he reached the kid's small, soft member.

He didn't hesitate, and took hold of the twitching flesh with a hand, before guiding it into his wet mouth. The kid cried out. He didn't even know if it was an expression of pleasure or just startlement, but he started suckling gently, and kept at it until the little cock in his mouth grew hard and Harry was crying and muttering nonsense. Then, he snuck one hand between the kid's legs to grab a hold of his right thigh, and pushed up and outward, to give himself more space. This accomplished, Mr Holmes got a finger between the scrawny arse cheeks and started rubbing it slowly over the kid's puckered skin, over and over, pressing just a little harder when he knew what he was doing with his mouth was particularly pleasurable for the boy.

With no warning, the man left Harry's shaft and put his mouth on the little balls. He only spared them a long lick, though, on the way to reach the boy's asshole where his fingers were massaging slowly. He was only breathing on the flushed skin when Harry positively mewled and had to curl a hand around his own mouth to stop himself from sobbing. When Mr Holmes finally lay his hot, wet lips on the boy's most private place, the youngest was an incoherent mess, with pearls of sweat tracing his face like tears. None of this stopped the man from slicking up his finger with spit and teasing the boy's pretty hole with the tip of his tongue, of course. He closed his mouth around Harry's little cock, once again, just as the wet tip of his finger past the tight ring of muscles. That's all it took for the kid to come a second time that day, dry, as before. Which didn’t truly matter, as Mr Holmes could see and feel the physical relief in the boy's body, the way all his limbs trembled before releasing simultaneously, leaving him panting and huffing in a weak puddle on the bed.

Mr Holmes kept rubbing at the soft skin of the kid's insides until his spit had all dried up and Harry only sobbed sparingly. Then he stopped touching the over-stimulated boy to lie down at his side. He arranged himself so he could watch as the little one came down from his high without putting pressure on his own still very much present hard-on. 

He was a patient man, he didn't get antsy as the boy slowly came back to himself, and was ready with a smile when Harry raised his eyes a little to look at him from under his fringe.

"Nice?" The boy didn't need to answer, his still slightly laboured breath and the lovely flush on his cheekbones were more answer than the man needed. It was also interesting how the moment the boy could reason again, his eyes went to the man's very naked and very erect cock. It felt much like a reward when the little boy experienced a nice thing and instantaneously thought of reciprocating. And who was Mr Holmes to refuse him? He put an arm under the boy's shoulders and used it to move Harry from the centre of the bed to the side so he could take the kid's place and sit with his back propped up by the pillows, the boy now on his side, facing him.

"Go on." The boy moved his big, green eyes on him, bit his lower lip, then got between Mr Holmes' legs with clearly faked, but nonetheless remarkable confidence. To be honest, it was a sight to behold - this boy crouched comfortably in front of his very interested member.

The kid looked up to Mr Holmes once more, but his eyes reached only as far as the man's chin before he focused again on the hard flesh before him, and thought how to go about it.

Harry often saw Dudley with ice-cream cones and icicles, quietly wishing to put his mouth on such a treat himself. Maybe it was ridiculous, but as he lowered his mouth on the man's shaft he just thought that it was no ice-cream. 

Mr Holmes' flesh was big and warm, kind of salty and wetter than it was even a couple of minutes before. He knew what to do, more or less, as Mr Holmes had shown him, and Harry really wanted the man to experience all the nice feelings he had coursing through him just a little while ago.

He didn't realise, but the lasting contentedness of satisfaction and his inexperience made him sloppy. He tried to fit the hard flesh into his mouth but when it touched the back of his tongue he had to stop and part his lips further. His spit ran freely over the length from his mouth to his hands, both held securely around Mr Holmes' member. He didn't know how to close his lips over the flesh without biting into it with his teeth, so he erred on the side of caution and his tasteless saliva nearly defeated the salty pearls of clear liquid coming from Mr Holmes' pee hole.

He realised he was making a mess, there was no hope for his sticky hands, but he tried to remedy by licking all over the shaft. First a series of kittenish licks with no direction, just where he saw gleaming wet skin, then broader, slower sweeps from where his hands were to the tip. He didn't know how long it was supposed to go on, but moving as much as he had to to lick all over was starting to tire him already. He couldn't stop, though, he didn't think it would be very polite. So he took the tip in his mouth once more, and started to suck a little, just to slow everything down and give himself time. At that point, from the corner of his nearly-closed eyes, he saw Mr Holmes raise a hand, the pit of despair in his stomach was sudden and violent but it melted away without resistance as Mr Holmes just circled his hands with his own big one, and guided him into moving them up and down the hard flesh while he rested his mouth. Harry took care to do it as good as he could to compensate for his need to rest his mouth. It worked wonderfully, and soon he felt ready to try and take the member a little further in his mouth.

 

 

After it was all said and done, Harry felt drained. He didn't know why, as he was used to much more labour-intensive days. He didn't understand it, but he didn't fight it. He knew he would've felt worse if Mr Holmes hadn't been in exactly the same shape, but both ended up lying on the bed, sweaty and sticky until their breaths normalized completely. At which point Mr Holmes got up and offered his hand to Harry. The kid hoisted himself up on the bed on his own, but it was higher than he thought - and was comfortable with - so he took the offered hand to get down and didn't make a move to dislodge their clasped hands while the man led him to the bathroom. Unlike usual, the man didn't wet a towel to rub him down with, instead, he put the stopper on the bath's drain and opened the hot water. 

"I hope you don't mind if we take a hot bath, for a change." Harry viciously stomped on the part of his mind that considered it a waste and reacted before such thoughts could even take hold, for once he didn't let himself think too much and just opened his mouth,

"Why would I?!" Harry wanted to grin, but scrutinized Mr Holmes’ expression first to make sure he had not stepped over a line, before letting himself. The man let go of him, to mess his hair instead. Harry flushed. Honestly to God flushed, and his eyes got wide when he realised. He turned his head away and looked fascinated at the water rising in the bathtub. It was different when they were snuggling, because Mr Holmes got worked up as well, but getting all hot just because of a caress? Harry felt a little silly, but couldn’t help it, so he made sure to keep his head down until he thought his blush went away.

 

 

They ended up staying a long time in the bath. It was the first time Harry was allowed and even encouraged to enjoy such a thing and the contentedness, the hot water and the energies spent all lead to a sleepy and peaceful atmosphere he was even less accustomed to. So much so, Harry didn’t even feel self-conscious about resting in Mr Holmes’ lap, hugged and cuddled in the pretence of cleaning off. To be honest, it felt worse than Harry thought possible to go from that, back to his relatives’ house. Though at the end of the day, it was the only thing he could do. 

 

 


	6. Home Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love your reviews guys, I've never updated on the 1st but I couldn't leave you waiting any longer.  
> Enjoy

Harry was very nervous as he made his way down the street, away from his uncles’ house. He had been sent to pick up some food items they had run out of, and the wallet stuffed down his oversized jeans’ pocket had the exact sum he would spend. It was nerve-wracking. Walking around with so much money always left him trembling, thinking of the worst-case scenarios. Going to the convenience store wasn’t one of his usual chores, but it still happened once or twice a month, and Harry knew perfectly well what would happen if he didn’t bring home the exact thing his aunt needed or his cousin was craving, or, god-forbid, if he misplaced the money. He had gotten Dudley’s candy wrong only once, and he wasn’t keen on repeating the experience.  
  
Preoccupied as he was with such thoughts, it shouldn’t surprise that more than one repetition of his name was needed to catch his attention. When he finally realised Ms Figg was calling him, he turned to her and waved a little,  
  
“Harry! Harry, dear boy, come here a moment.” He didn’t really want to, Ms Figg smelt of cabbage and cats and he needed to get to the store... But he couldn’t ignore her, so he went. “There you are now,” Ms Figg said, looking at him up and down, “It’s been a while!” Harry bowed his head, not really knowing how to answer. It was, after all, true that the Dursleys hadn’t seen necessary sending Harry over to Ms Figg’s, now that he spent a great chunk of his days at Mr Holmes’. “Well, I need a hand, yes?”  
  
Ms Figg didn’t wait for an answer and took hold of Harry’s arm without fanfare. The woman pulled him along, to the back of her yard, where a single, vaguely twisted tree was weighed down by apples.  
  
“Tufty just won’t get down, you see, and my poor, old bones couldn’t take it, so if you could just-” What Ms Figg wanted was clear, it wasn’t hard to understand when he could see a swishing tail in between branches. Harry stood perfectly still a few, long moments to bemoan his full pocket and his precious cargo, but he knew that he would give in, so didn’t let himself fret too much and got ready to climb the tree. It wasn’t the first, and it wouldn’t be the last time that Ms Figg lost a cat, after all.  
  
Getting up to where the tabby cat was quite comfortably perched was easy, at that point he just had to make sure Tufty didn’t run from him. Honestly, Harry had more experience with this than he would like to admit to, and soon the cat was under his arm. While the first part of his quest was easy, getting down with the squirming bundle was an exercise in balance. Sometimes he tried to get the feline to hold onto his shoulder... but it didn’t account for much. He somehow got down and handed the cat over with no major injuries. He put his hands in his pockets just to check, even if he hadn’t felt the old wallet move and fall down.  
  
Ms Figg spent a while cooing over her pet, and Harry didn’t know how to excuse himself – he didn’t dare interrupt to say goodbye, so he just stood there awkwardly while the woman brushed a couple of leaves from the cat’s hair (the boy was suddenly reminded of how much of a rat’s nest his head could be and took the chance to do so to his own as well). Harry had just started shifting on his feet when, finally, Ms Figg left Tufty go and directed a vague smile at Harry.  
  
“How are things going Harry? All good? I have noticed you haven’t spent a lot of time at your family’s since school let out...”  
  
“Everything is fine, Ms Figg, I’m just helping out our nice neighbour, moving some things and cleaning...” Harry shifted some more and hoped Ms Figg would think it was because he had to leave, and not because he was lying.  
  
“Alright then, my thanks and off with you now.” Ms Figg made the same shooing motion she used for her cats, and Harry ran out of her backyard and onto the street, walking a little quicker than he was before, to reach the store soon even after his unplanned stop.  
  
Ever since the first time Harry had been sent to buy groceries all on his own (just to pick up vanilla extract and eggs... it was a bit of a emergency run), he had always been greeted by the same man, though he knew that this summer a girl had started helping out there as well (even if he tried not to listen in to his aunt and her friends’ chatter, it was hard). Anyway, he had only dealt with the owner so far, and he was nice. Well, he wasn’t very warm or prone to small talk, and he was a little gruff, sometimes, but he helped Harry every time he needed it and didn’t ask uncomfortable questions, so he was more than alright in Harry’s book. He was a portly man in his forties with a trimmed beard that got too long every now and then, between visits to the barber shop. Harry didn’t mind that the man always seemed to follow his movements when he picked up products, his relatives had told him that he looked like a rascal and a thief, and he couldn’t fault the man for keeping an eye on him. Today was much of the same. The man grunted in greeting when Harry got in his shop and proceeded to follow him with his gaze as he picked up junk food, bread and juice. The juice more than anything else was kind of heavy for the kid, and he had to keep the basket with both hands in front of him to be able to carry it. Though he didn’t know how much it helped, because that way every time he walked the basked would hit his legs, and if he kept it a little higher up he struggled with the weight all over again.  
  
The man watched with a mildly interested face as the kid started panting a bit after shifting his burden from one hand to both, then to the other. The child was too concentrated on keeping walking to notice the interested gleam in the man’s hooded eyes. Had he seen it, he wouldn’t have recognised it. When the kid made his way to the counter, the man stayed sprawled on his comfy chair, and didn’t move to help the kid raise the basket up. Only when Harry had huffed and puffed to get the basket on the counter all on his own, the man took it. As he started unloading it and ringing and bagging the items, he gave a little smile to the kid, who bowed his head to hide his blush. The man’s lips twitched up even more.  
  
Harry couldn’t be sure that it was a proud smile for his efforts, but even just the thought had made him flush quite embarrassingly.  
  
The man handed the kid his two bags (one just for the juice), and knew the whole routine would repeat itself in about two weeks. He didn’t mind. At all.  
  


As Harry made his way home, the plastic bag with the big jug of juice ripped, just a bit, but Harry was quick to wrap an arm around it and he hugged it to chest tightly. The other, lighter bag swished at his side.  
From the store, Harry had to walk through a good chunk of Wisteria Walk, then from the start of Privet Drive to his relatives’. He saw quite a few men out in their front yards, just enjoying the sun or doing some chores as was usual on Saturday mornings. The only person who waved at him was Mrs Hart, from n. 7, who was walking down the pavement opposite his and was young and always smiling. She was the nicest person in the neighbourhood, if you asked Harry, maybe not nicer than Mr Holmes, but it was a close one. Even if some of the other women talked behind her back about how young she was, Harry didn’t care. He felt himself blush a little as he returned the wave happily. As he went around his uncles’ house to enter through the kitchen door, he thought that he wasn’t surprised at not seeing Mr Holmes outside. The man was without doubt sprawled on his armchair with a book. Mr Holmes read a lot of books and he wasn’t often in his little garden, but Harry was sure he would have waved as well, had he been. Mr Holmes seemed always happy to see him, and the boy knew exactly how to thank him. He liked their arrangement more than the one the Dursleys have with Ms Figg, she always said yes to having him over, but didn’t always seem happy with it, and she had often little chores she needed doing around the house, though Harry didn’t mind those much, Ms Figg gave him biscuits after. Of course, Mr Holmes didn’t need a reason to give him biscuits, though he didn’t always. He usually fed him good food, then, sometimes, he took out sweets he said he bought just for him. Mr Holmes was the nicest. And he only wanted to have company and to feel good, and Harry really understood that because the man probably got lonely in his house by himself and also because the things they did felt really good and everyone liked feeling good.  
  


Even as lost in his thoughts as Harry was, he opened the back door with the utmost care – he didn’t want it to make noise and bother someone. For the same reason, he kept his ears finely tuned. Saturday was also uncle Vernon’s day off, and the man disliked having to see him even when it wasn’t necessary. He usually spent his downtime in front of the Telly, and that day nothing seemed different. Dudley was over at one of his friends’ house, but this still left Aunt Petunia unaccounted for. So Harry was very quiet as he went on his tiptoes to put the bags on the kitchen table. He was just getting the juice out of the slightly-ripped bag when Aunt Petunia entered the kitchen. Her expression quickly soured when she looked at him.  
  
“Well? Put the groceries away! Don’t stand there looking around!”  
  
Harry ducked his head and murmured “Yes, Aunt Petunia” like he wasn’t thinking of biting back that he was just about to. He wouldn’t do that. It wasn’t worth it.  
  
Harry made quick work of removing all the snacks from the bags, as Aunt Petunia stayed in the kitchen to pour herself a drink of water while glaring at his every action. After Harry threw the bags in the trash, his aunt left, clearly not wishing to see him struggling to stash away the food. The process of putting everything in the cupboards over the sink involved careful kneeling on furniture on his part (he always paid particular attention to avoid dirtying anything) as he wasn’t tall enough to reach on his own and he couldn’t stand up on the chairs – he didn’t even want to think about the punishment Aunt Petunia would give him.  
  
When he was finished he stood looking around for a while. He hadn’t been given other chores to do, and even if it was time to start preparing lunch, Aunt Petunia hadn’t told him to and he didn’t want to risk it.  
  
His aunt got back in the kitchen with her empty glass and glared at him some more.  
  
“I need to start preparing lunch for when Duddykins gets home, and I don’t want you around.” Harry bit his tongue. Even if Mr Holmes didn’t mind him asking questions, and even encouraged him to do so, he knew better than to interrupt his aunt. She let the silence drag a little, as if daring him to break the rule. “Mr Holmes is expecting you anytime now, you can go to him right away, I don’t want you pilfering from our table and eating food Dudley needs!” Harry had already started nodding before his aunt was even halfway through her order. “And tell the good man you have already eaten, we don’t want him thinking he owes us anything, and waste his food on you!” Harry nodded again, but he knew he wouldn’t lie to Mr Holmes.  
  
He made the error of waiting around until he was properly dismissed before leaving, and Aunt Petunia chased him out of the door with a wooden spoon in hand. Of course, she would have had reason to hit him even if he had waited, so he didn’t take it to heart and ran off to Mr Holmes’, sure he would find a good meal and a hug.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Total change of tone, because I clearly can't fit world-building *and* smut in the same chapter ^^'  
> 


	7. Every little step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up as we get closer to Harry's birthday...  
> (Which means lots of foreplay right now)

Harry was right. Mr Holmes really greeted him at the door with a kiss, and the yummy smell of something cooking in the kitchen went a long way in warming him up from the inside, even before being presented with a full bowl of tomato soup. Harry didn’t know why, but suddenly he felt so happy he could have cried. He wouldn’t, obviously, he wasn’t a baby, but he felt this warm weight just under his chest. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable, either. He felt like he couldn’t breathe all the way in, at least not without dislodging something, which would result in him just breaking down in tears on the way to the kitchen, he feared. He fought hard to keep his eyes dry. He felt like the warm hand Mr Holmes put on his shoulder should help, except it really didn’t. He wondered what was wrong with him all of a sudden, why all these strange feelings threatened to choke him now that he felt… accepted, safe. But by that point he was already sitting at the table and there wasn’t any more time to brood, he should thank Mr Holmes for the meal.

“It’s just fine. Eat up while it’s hot.” Mr Holmes caressed his hair before sitting in front of him and opening the newspaper, it was different from the one uncle Vernon liked to read, but Harry was too busy eating to bother with it. The soup was smooth and warm, he tried to concentrate on that, but he kept getting distracted by the way Mr Holmes turned the pages, it was truly a silly thing, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from returning to the man every time his thoughts got away from him. The man noticed, of course. But only looked at him with… affection, was that it? And one time Mr Holmes winked at him! Harry blushed right away and ducked his head. The man just chuckled softly, but Harry didn’t feel bad about it, not like when his relatives or his math teacher laughed at him.

He finished his lunch quickly and put everything dirty in the sink to be washed later. He had asked Mr Holmes plenty of times to be allowed to help, but the man always shook his head, and after he had said “Maybe when you’re older,” he had stopped asking. Just the thought of being wanted so much the man already thought of keeping him around for years filled him with joy, and helping with the dishes didn’t seem all that important anymore.

He walked back to the table as slowly as he could, stalling to see if Mr Holmes would say something about his plans for the afternoon.

The man glanced at him briefly, well-attuned to the boy’s quirks, but he still took a few moments to check out the last pages of the newspaper at least cursorily before he snapped it shut.

His lips curled into a smile with no conscious decision on his part at seeing the boy shyly standing in front of him with his hands behind his back, Harry returned it without hesitation, “Let’s go sit in the living room.”

Harry happily trotted after him, removing his shoes before stepping on the moquette, and settled comfortably at his side on the couch. Mr Holmes petted his head and he felt so content he actually thought he would start purring like Ms Figg’s cats did.

“I’ve been thinking, your birthday’s soon, isn’t it?” Harry’s moment of relaxation came to an abrupt halt, his breath stopping. His lungs felt suddenly incapable of sucking in air. As a result, his voice came out weak when he was finally able to get an answer out.

“Ye-es,”

“You’re growing up.” A smile. “I’ll have to get you a present.”

“Oh-! You don’t have to…” The surprise made his voice feeble.

“Maybe, but I would like to, to thank you for keeping me company these past weeks, and in hope you will continue to indulge me for many days to come.” Harry’s heart beat a fast rhythm in his chest. He couldn’t understand if he was really touchy that day or it was normal to feel so… flustered. He knew Mr Holmes spoke really well of him, complimenting and flattering him, even if he couldn’t always understand all the words, and he didn’t know how he was supposed to answer, or even what he was supposed to feel, because such things never happened to him before he started spending time with his neighbour. He didn’t think arguing with the man (which he didn’t want to do anyway) would serve any purpose, though, so he stayed silent, blushing furiously. As usual, Mr Holmes didn’t really care about his awkwardness and tugged him closer to his side, so they could cuddle for a while – one of Harry’s favourite things to do.

It wasn’t long before Mr Holmes picked him up from his curled up position on the couch to arrange him in his lap. The man started caressing him all over, long strokes of those big hands that he didn’t fear anymore (well, maybe a little. He was wary, still, but he could ignore it really well at this point, because he didn’t think that Mr Holmes would hurt him, not now). He squirmed and giggled when the man traced his fingers over a particularly ticklish spot. 

Then Mr Holmes started kissing him, and these were not simple pecks like the one he got at the door, but really long, wet kisses, on his mouth, his cheeks, then his neck and, once the man moved the collar of his large, second-hand t-shirt a little to the side, his shoulders. Harry even dared return some kisses, when he could reach the man’s skin comfortably, and he only hummed happily in answer so the boy continued doing that. Cuddling was always nice, and it was pretty warm in the house, so when Mr Holmes nudged him off his lap, urging him to ‘go on and strip’, Harry didn’t hesitate. The man also moved to unbutton his shirt, which didn’t happen often and was always distracting for Harry. Once he was done with his clothes and had discharged them on the armchair near the couch, Mr Holmes was done with his shirt, his arms already open in a welcoming gesture. Harry climbed on the man’s lap and tilted his head up, in case Mr Holmes wanted to kiss him again. The man did peck him on the lips, but then pulled at him until he was straddling him, and his naked thighs were snug against Mr Holmes’ equally naked hips. He embraced him, adjusting his hold so his hands were under his bottom and he could get up from the couch without much effort. Harry hugged his neck as he was carried once more up the stairs like he weighed nothing.

“I thought we could do something fun and a little more grown-up, today, and you don’t really need those clothes upstairs.”

Harry nodded against the man’s shoulder, just happy that he would get to lie on the big bed again. He wasn’t worried, after all, what Mr Holmes did always felt good, even if it was kind of strange.

Once they were in the bedroom, the man let him down for a little bit, just enough for him to notice the sheets were a different colour from last time and for his feet to start to get cold. Mr Holmes used this time to get a fluffy towel from his closet and lie it on the bed, though Harry couldn’t start to guess why. He was quick to scramble on the bed at the slightest gesture from Mr Holmes, happy to curl up on the soft towel so his feet didn’t freeze and fall off, or something. He was kind of a funny sight, climbing on the bed with his bare bottom shaking, and Mr Holmes didn’t try to keep in his chuckle. The boy was sitting up, hugging his legs with his ankles crossed; at the sound, he bowed his head, nearly hiding his face behind his knees, biting his lips to hide a grin. He liked to make Mr Holmes happy, it was a rush when the man smiled or laughed because of something he did. He was lucky, the man was nicer and easier to please than his Uncles, Harry felt like he could finally do something right when he was with him. He even allowed himself to peek from under his fringe as Mr Holmes removed his clothes, because he knew that the man would only wink at him if he noticed. Which he did, obviously.

It didn’t bother him any, and in little time he was joining the kid on the bed, only his briefs still on. As Mr Holmes got closer to him, Harry slowly uncurled. When he was fully lying down, his head didn’t quite reach the pillows and the man’s body covered him almost completely. He perched on his forearms so every time he breathed hot air blew on Harry’s ear, making little shivers run down his back. No part of Mr Holmes touched him, but his whole front started to overheat where he hovered just over his skin. A flush rose unbidden to his cheeks when the man shifted his weight and got a hand between them. It enveloped his little cock without a problem, making it start to fill out slowly but surely. The man barely had to stroke it for Harry’s breath to accelerate and when he lowered his mouth straight down to one of his rosy pecks Harry couldn’t hold in the moan. It all happened really quickly, Mr Holmes sucked and nipped at his chest and rubbed his length and for some reason Harry found himself on the edge faster than ever.

The man clearly sensed it, because he abandoned his self-appointed tasks and lowered himself even more, until his mouth was only centimetres from Harry’s cock, and the kid really didn’t think it helped any. He whined.

“Oh, Harry, the things I show you can feel so good…” The boy squirmed, “You just have to let me in. Tell me you will.” He caressed his thigh.

“O-of course. Anything.”

“Anything?” Mr Holmes’ eyes shined bright, but Harry couldn’t answer. Not anymore. Not when the man breathed on his most sensitive parts and he felt dizzy, sure that all his blood was busy reddening his body and making his member grow. He nodded, breathing hard, with his eyes wide open as the man smiled and took his cock in his mouth. He only gave a couple perfunctory sucks, though, carrying on the conversation like it was nothing.

“It may feel a little weird at first, but you just let it happen, I promise you’ll come to love it.” Harry only moaned. Mr Holmes sat up and away from him, he reached into the first drawer of his table and picked up a little, clear tube. Harry couldn’t begin to imagine what it contained, or why it was so vital to take it right at that moment, but the man opened it and squeezed some viscous gel on his fingers, and only then he concentrated once again on Harry.

“It’ll be a little cold.” With that, Mr Holmes rubbed his sticky fingers on his cleft and while the strange gel was kinda cold, it didn’t really bother him. Which was apparently lucky, because the man didn’t waste time and started smearing that thing all around, and particularly on his little hole, making small, circular motions with his index and middle fingers, adding some pressure at times, and lightening his touch again when it got to be too much and Harry couldn’t help but whine. The man’s other hand soothed him with slow caresses every time he got too worked up, helping him calm his breath. 

Then one finger got past the tight constriction of his muscles and far enough that it burned inside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I'm evil.  
> But next chapter picks up from this exact moment! ^^  
> 


	8. Trying it out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn. Porn porn porn porn. And more porn for your reading pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's great to see all the interested my first story is gathering, thank you all so much! ^^

The man’s digit pushed deeper still, and the friction burned. He tried to move it around, just the tiniest bit, and a distressed little sound left Harry’s mouth without his permission, but Mr Holmes only shushed him. He picked up the transparent bottle again,

“Tell me if it’s too cold.”

As Harry had something else to concentrate on, his eyes returned to their normal width and he started breathing regularly once more. Calmer, he could take in fully the sight of the man squeezing more of the clear liquid right where his fingers met his hand, from where it slowly ran until Harry couldn’t see it anymore but feel it on his warm skin and while it was a little cold, it didn’t bother him. Somehow it only felt like the heat inside him flared, which made the burning feel stark but also more bearable, for whatever reason, and he held his breath without a conscious choice.

The viscous liquid pooled at his entrance, until it got in and started coating his insides, and a single, breathless moan left him. At that, the man looked at him and raised an eyebrow,

“Alright?” Before Harry could make the effort of trying to understand if this was an unrelated question, or he should be remembering the last thing the man told him, Mr Holmes continued, “Not too cold?”

“N-no, I mean- It’s fine.” It was more than fine. Maybe he even liked it, though he wasn’t sure. Either way, that was the time the man started to move his finger around, again, and all forms of higher thought left him. He felt like he wasn’t even in his body anymore, and he moaned. Just a tiny, tiny thing. More like a breath suddenly escaped him and decided to make more noise than it should have. Harry couldn’t have controlled it even had he known it was coming.

The sensation was just so strange. It took a few seconds before his body could decide what it was feeling. His hole clenched on the finger inside it. For a breathtaking instant, it felt good like he couldn’t believe.

Then Mr Holmes pushed, just a little deeper, and for a moment he felt numb, like he could only understand his body’s signals with a delay when everything was so new. Suddenly, a sensation made sense and fear gripped him. His sphincter fluttered on the intrusion and he jerked, or, tried to jerk away from Mr Holmes. He didn’t even jostle him. The man shushed him and moved his finger some more. But Harry couldn’t let it go, it was serious! He couldn’t embarrass himself in such a way! He panted in distress. He couldn’t even imagine what a beating he would get for sullying the bed. 

“N-no!” Mr Holmes only gripped his shoulder comfortingly. “N-nh!”

“Are you in pain?” Harry flushed even more. He pushed on the man’s shoulders as much as he dared (not a lot), and shook his head.

“No, but-!”

“Then, please, let me.” And the finger plunged in deep as it could go. Harry let out a sound as close to a scream as he could allow himself, his fingers and his toes curled without conscious thought, something flashed behind his eyes and his hips bucked. Then Mr Holmes’ digit retreated slowly and he didn’t know if he felt relieved or bereft. Either way, he didn’t have time to contemplate it, as the intrusion never actually left his body, only eased up a little before pushing in again. Not as deep as before, luckily. And now, for some reason, after losing control of his body so completely and being brought down slowly, even if there was no real let up, his mind seemed marginally clearer, enough that Harry could think about his predicament.

Slightly less flustered, the boy knew, intellectually, that something was pushing inside and not something else trying to come out. Even if previously the what-if had been sudden and jarring and his breath coming in quicker than before had made him light-headed. Regardless of this, he shouldn’t have pushed Mr Holmes like that! Ashamed and even a little scared, Harry ducked his head. It was an awkward position, as his hands were still gripping the man’s shoulders and his back was hunched uncomfortably. Still, he had no intention of letting go, or of showing his face, so he took the discomfort without a lament.

Mr Holmes made a soft, chiding sound, and moved his left hand from his bony shoulder to his chin, his grip gentle but firm as the man forced him to raise his head once more.

“Everything’s fine, Harry, trust me. And be a good boy now, don’t look away.” The boy could barely nod, so flushed he felt fevered, and stayed still when Mr Holmes moved his hand to his thigh. To his inner thigh, precisely, where he splayed his hand open and pushed so that his legs parted that much more. Harry really couldn’t feel more exposed than he already did, but the slight change of position did bring his attention to how naked, and sweaty, and close they were. Then Mr Holmes picked up the bottle, once again, and again coated his finger – and his middle finger as well, this time. Of course, it wasn’t like Harry was exactly in the right frame of mind to correctly interpret this deviation from the previously established usual, no, he understood the significance of the gesture only when the pressure at his hole slowly increased, then doubled, until something breached and it felt like the intruding fingers couldn’t possibly fit. Except they did. Just the tips, but he could almost feel that there were two different things trying to get in, even if they were tightly pressed together. The man added even more liquid from the bottle and started making slow circles with his fingers just inside his entrance, until he relaxed around the penetration. Then he pushed a little more.

And so he went on, until, before Harry knew it, Mr Holmes was rhythmically thrusting his fingers in and out, not quickly, but intently, without pause or respite and Harry had basically given up on doing anything more involved than mewling weakly and digging his blunted nails in the man’s neck. It felt overwhelming and Harry was terribly on edge. Then Mr Holmes’ other hand left his thigh and wrapped around his stiff cock so completely he ended up cradling his balls as well, pushing them against the length, and it against his belly, and Harry felt like all his energy sapped away and he could only sob and tremble under the onslaught of sensations.

The man smirked at him (not that he noticed) and moved up so he could more comfortably kiss and bite at the skin of his neck, which he did with relish. Then he took shameless advantage of the better position, he shifted so he could close Harry’s right leg between both of his and start rutting against the boy’s soft, hairless thigh, slowly and carefully, so the kid could at first barely feel the weight of his manhood heavy with blood. The man teased himself, lavishing Harry with all the pleasure he wouldn’t even know to ask for, but allowing himself only the softest touches, drinking in the child’s expressions and moans and getting off on that more than on the simple physical aspect of it and the attention his member got. The slow rhythm didn’t last long, the man’s blood was singing for release and he had never been any good at denying himself – as could be deducted by his seducing of the kid currently crying in pleasure beneath him. He planted his knees more firmly in the mattress and picked up his pace, lying more weight on the boy’s thigh, so he could unequivocally feel his hardened cock right against his flesh. Once he started properly rutting, he could barely maintain enough presence of mind to plunge his fingers in the boy’s hole, hold his cocklet in one hand and keep a morsel of the skin of his neck between his teeth without biting through. He managed purely because the thought of not giving (and getting) all the pleasure he could was unbearable.

Traces of pre-come leaked all over Harry’s thigh, leaving him sticky and gross; not that he was left any time to reflect on this, as Mr Holmes had freed his now-tender neck only to lean down and take one of his nipples between his teeth. He was oh-so-carefully rolling it with his tongue, sending what felt like electric shocks through it and right to his cock and Harry screamed and something much less thick than come, more transparent too, spurted from his hard member and now he was sticky on his belly as well. That was when Mr Holmes moaned deeply and suddenly went still, as, after what seemed like hours of rutting mindlessly against the kid’s thigh, he came generously, the strings of white come covering Harry’s soft cock and mixing with his own pre-pubescent effort on the boy’s stomach. He used the last of his strength to adjust himself, careful to collapse to the side and not to weight on the kid. 

All was still for a beat. 

Mr Holmes still breathed hard and rested heavily on his left forearm, trying to recover from the physical effort. Though it seemed he couldn’t keep his hands off his bed-mate. After only a few moments, he raised his right hand to the boy’s flat belly and caressed the soft skin, getting his fingers dirty and sticky by trailing them through the white mess. He was feeling high, accomplished and a little decadent as he purposefully got even more come on the tips of his fingers, then brought it to the child’s lips, painting them in white until Harry opened his mouth just enough for Mr Holmes to slip two dirty fingers inside (the same fingers he had in the boy’s ass just moments before, god) and started sucking, just like that, like the movement soothed him like it would a babe. Had he not already come that would have pushed him beyond the edge, that and the kid’s big, green eyes, bright and shining from unshed tears. There was an almost otherworldly quality to them, right at that moment when he was clearly suspended between the high and the fall of his first intense sexual experience. Or maybe he was just feeling oddly poetic in his post-orgasmic haze. 

When Harry had licked off the last of their mixed come from his fingers, Mr Holmes was tempted to just keep going, clean the whole mess in the most dirty way – but his cock was starting to twitch painfully, and, despite the stimulating view and the valiant effort of his member, he would not be coming again anytime soon. He couldn’t stop himself from thrusting his fingers a couple times more between the boy’s shining red lips, and when he finally removed them, he leaned down for a long, filthy kiss, tasting come, pre-come and even the lube directly from the boy’s mouth. He used those few moments of distraction to clean off his hand on the wrinkled towel beneath them and strained a little to shift the boy more towards one side of the bed so he could lie down in the middle. He broke the kiss and turned, moving away from Harry to find a more comfortable position. 

He had barely enough time to settle himself with his back against the pillows, as the boy had already started moving to accommodate his shift while staying as close as possible. When Mr Holmes seemed to have sorted himself out, Harry gave up on any pretence of property that still stood, hugging the man’s middle and curling up half on his lap and half on the mattress, his face burrowed in Mr Holmes’ belly. He stroked from his shoulders down his back and scrawny behind, and back up his thigh. Harry trembled.

“There, there. You’ve been so good to me. So good.” Harry sobbed a little in Mr Holmes’ stomach. “Ssh, ssh. You can let it go now. I’ve got you, baby. You were so good, such a good boy.” The man never stopped petting his hair and back.

“I’m sorry.” Harry couldn’t help but slur the words, he didn’t know why he was even upset. But Mr Holmes just hushed him once more and hugged him closer, slowly pulling him up so he could enclose him better in his arms.

“No need to be, darling. Are you alright?”

“Y-yes,” Harry answered with a feeble voice without raising his head from Mr Holmes’ shoulder.

Luckily the man didn’t expect him to, perfectly happy to bask in the afterglow and cuddle to his heart’s content while the sweat and other bodily fluids dried on their skin.


	9. Relaxing into it

Harry couldn’t have told for how long they lazed about on the bed, but he was terribly close to sleep when Mr Holmes spoke.

“Come on, time to get cleaned up. Then there’s some juice in the kitchen I bought just for you.” After saying this, the man left Harry a little time to really register his words, like he knew he still had to completely get his bearings back. Only then he started to gently nudge the boy until he got the idea and began the long and clumsy process of getting off the bed and on his two feet. He had to jump a little to return on solid ground, which sent a twinge up his bottom despite the time spent recovering, and when he tried to walk his legs still trembled a little. He had no time to stumble, however, because Mr Holmes was behind him at a moment’s notice, stabilizing him with a hand between his shoulder blades – which Harry was honestly too drained to perceive as the searing hot touch he would usually register.

He gradually got back the full use of his limbs as they slowly walked out of the bedroom and towards the bathroom. It became easier and easier, but for some reason, just the sight of the stairs sent a not-entirely-pleasant, tingling feeling up his bum. It seemed strange to be so aware of that part of him, but he thought it couldn’t be helped after the man paid so much attention to it. So he kept walking with Mr Holmes’ big hand warming up his back altogether too pleasurably for his peace of mind.

Once in the bathroom, they didn’t bother to close the door. They rarely did, knowing no one would disturb them. For Harry, such simple freedom felt especially good, after being shamed by his relatives for so many reasons... every aspect of his person, really. Learning not to care about these things from this unselfconscious neighbour that the Dursleys respected felt, well, the child didn’t know the word, but he felt almost vindictive. As he was lost in his own mind, the man got him in the tub and let the water from the showerhead run until he considered it warm enough. 

Mr Holmes took the whole process completely out of his hands, and, with the water running down his body, it felt like the man washed away all the whirlwind of emotions he felt but barely acknowledged. As Mr Holmes rubbed soap on him and repositioned his body as needed with gentle hands, Harry felt pampered and almost floaty. The sensation enveloped him and stayed with him as the man set the stream of water to rinse him off as he attended to himself. 

 

His favourite part of the whole endeavour, of course, was when Mr Holmes massaged his scalp and passed his hands through his hair to clean the messy mop; it was terribly relaxing... like he needed any more of that after their activities in the bedroom left him a liquid mess.

 

When Mr Holmes thought him clean enough, he exited the tub first and picked up Harry, depositing him naked and dripping on a pair of slippers clearly too big for him. Then he took a fluffy towel and wrapped Harry completely in it, it was so big, and started rubbing him down.

The man insisted on drying his hair as well, but it probably was just an excuse to keep petting him so he didn’t mind.

 

When they finally got out of the bathroom, Mr Holmes with a bathrobe and Harry swathed in the big towel, they went back to the bedroom for Mr Holmes to put on some new clothes. Harry’s were on the floor downstairs, so he just waited for the man, but the towel was so fluffy and still warm, even if a little wet now, that there was really no reason to complain. He would be perfectly comfortable wearing this all afternoon, actually. But after Mr Holmes put on trousers and a t-shirt (the most dressed-down Harry had ever seen him – well, when he was dressed), he came up to Harry with a little bundle in his hands.

“These,” he raised the bundle, “are for you.” He put it on the bed and made quick work of removing the towel Harry was basically swimming in. So the boy went and saw that what looked like a bundle was made up of a pair of shorts, pants, and a t-shirt, all tiny enough to fit him, which wasn’t something he’d seen... well, ever, as he could only remember wearing Dudley’s castoffs since he had memory of getting dressed.

They were clearly meant for him... Mr Holmes had even said so. But, he was still leery. He had never been allowed to touch new clothes unless he was washing them. He didn’t want to misstep now, of all times, when Mr Holmes seemed so relaxed and loose and, did he really say there was juice just for him? He didn’t think he could bear it if he did something he’d deserve a punishment for now, when he still had Mr Holmes’ caresses impressed on his skin like marks that should be on his body for all to see but were just memory.

In other circumstances, such conflicting thoughts would have sent him well on the way of working himself into a bit of a panic, but he was just worn out enough to stay perfectly still, naked in front of the clothes he... should be wearing?, trying to think about everything but just ending up thinking in circles instead. It was not very constructive.

Mr Holmes agreed, or maybe had just grown tired of watching him not accept his gift, for he took the situation in hand, like he always did, unfolded the clothes swiftly and held the pants open in front of him, asking him, with all the calm in the world,

“Raise your right leg, if you would.” So, of course, he raised his leg, then the other when Mr Holmes motioned for it and, before he could get his bearings back, he was lowering his arms and he was fully dressed in what the man had clearly bought, brand-new, just for him, seeing as he didn’t have sons around from which Harry may have gotten hand-me-downs.

“There, at least now you have something clean to wear after a wash.” Harry could only duck his head and whisper a thank you.

Once they were both dressed, they walked to the stairs, but Mr Holmes didn’t let him start to descend them, picking him up instead. Harry brought his arms around the man’s neck on instincts and let himself be carried to the kitchen, where Mr Holmes let him down on one of the padded chairs. (Not all of his chairs matched, which to hear Aunt Petunia tell it was one of the worst kinds of thing – which just went to show what Aunt Petunia knew.)

“Now, that juice I promised you.”

Harry could do no more than track the man’s movements as he went to the fridge, his mind still stuck on the new, soft clothes he was wearing. He took the cold glass of juice Mr Holmes poured him when it was handed to him and waited when the man gestured for it. He waited and thought of how comfortable he was there in Mr Holmes’ kitchen in his new clothes and how they would get dirty when Aunt Petunia sent him outside to work on the backyard and how he hoped nothing would tear when Uncle Vernon grabbed the back of his shirt to throw him in his cupboard for the night after he helped put away the dinner dishes. He didn’t want the first gift that he ever remembered getting to be ruined so soon. Still, he wasn’t sure what he could do about it. It wasn’t like the Dursleys would be any more careful with him even if he asked. They wouldn’t care that he had new clothes. Except, they would, wouldn’t they? They would be furious that he would dare wear anything other than what they gave him and- and... steal from nice, normal people that shouldn’t have to deal with a useless waste of space like him. He didn’t deserve such kindness.

But Mr Holmes had given it to him. And he already knew that the man was way nicer than his relatives. He might get offended if Harry didn’t appreciate his gift. At the same time, he couldn’t go back to the Dursleys’ wearing new clothes. It was a conundrum. One he couldn’t exactly contemplate right then, when Mr Holmes put a straw in his big glass and patted the crown of his head.

“Alright?” Harry nodded, determined not to let the thought of his relatives ruin Mr Holmes’ day. He would just have to find a solution. Later though. Once finally allowed to start drinking, he realised he was really thirsty and the first few sips of orange juice looked more like gulps. Once the cool liquid had settled in his belly, he slowed down.

This juice had juicy bits, which meant that sometimes he had to suck pretty hard to drink through the straw. All throughout the few minutes Harry spent attached to the green straw, he could feel Mr Holmes’ intent gaze fixated on him. For some reason, it didn’t bother him any, he didn’t feel funny, or self-conscious as he did up until three weeks ago, when he had just started coming by Mr Holmes’ house. It almost felt normal, now, so used he was to those dark brown eyes following his every move (being pretty sure he wasn’t going to be hurt over some imaginary error helped).

Once he’d finished, the man instructed him to leave the glass on the table even when Harry would have gone and washed it. But Mr Holmes didn’t even let him stand up on his own, making him wait until the man was there to help him up, untucking the chair from the table and guiding him with a steady hand at his back. It was all terribly unnecessary, seeing as the simmering throbbing in his behind wasn’t that bad and there was no risk that he was gonna fall or anything. He had walked in a lot more discomfort, the few times his uncle had gotten angry enough with him, there was no need to steer him all the way to couch in the living room, like he had somehow forgotten where it was since he’d last been there. Not that he was going to say any of this to Mr Holmes, his hands were always nice and warm, after all, it wasn’t exactly a hardship letting the man lead him around.

He sat on the couch with a gentle prompting and made himself comfortable as Mr Holmes recovered a book from his big library. It was clear the man was preparing for a long cuddle, and Harry was feeling positively chuffed about it. He waited patiently, his hands tucked under his thighs so he wouldn’t fidget, until Mr Holmes settled on one side of the couch, then he scooted over and lied down, his head on the man’s lap so he could be petted without disturbing the book in his other hand. And maybe, if he was really happy with him, Mr Holmes would start reading aloud. It was always nice and somewhat soothing to hear the man so calm and peaceful, even if Harry couldn’t understand half the words he heard. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to forget about everything that wasn’t Mr Holmes’ soft trousers under his cheek, the fresh smell of mint that clung to both of them since their shared shower, and the man’s hand in his hair. He had to enjoy this as much as he could before he had to leave. He knew he was being spoilt, after all. And he loved the experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, guys, this is the last chapter I have ready, from now on I'll try to keep updating every month if not more but don't hold your breath because I'm incredibly slow ^^' (you may have noticed already)  
> 


	10. Sinking deeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I'm so late, I'm terribly sorry! School has been a bitch and if that wasn't enough I'm job hunting which - not the easiest thing in my town -.-'  
> But here's the new chapter with a bit of a treat at the end (smut smut smut, I tried something new, tell me what you think)! Thank you all for sticking with me, your reviews and kudos are what makes me want to keep writing this story!

Of course, as all good things, it couldn’t last.  
  
And, as was often the case, it was his own fault.  
  
Letting himself get lost in the sound of Mr Holmes’ voice as the man read aloud was wonderful at first, but as time passed, the moment Harry most dreaded got closer and closer. If he raised his head, Harry could see the bundle of his cousin’s old clothes on the armchair and every time it served as a reminder that this wasn’t his home and he couldn’t stay forever. He never knew how much time passed, because Mr Holmes hated the constant sound of a clock’s hands ticking and the only way to tell the time in his house was the old watch he kept in a drawer of his bedside table. Harry had seen the man wearing it only twice, and it looked really different from Uncle Vernon’s shiny, metallic one. Anyway, the point was that Harry couldn’t tell the hour, and this stressed him more than if he knew exactly how much time he had left at Mr Holmes’ place. He knew that he was a little strange in this regard… his classmates never seemed to care that much about the time, but he’d had to be really conscious of it to complete all of Aunt Petunia’s chores before she screamed at him. Just thinking about it made him fidget, worse than he was before, and Mr Holmes hugged him tightly with one arm, sighed, and put down his book.  
  
“What is it, Harry?”  
  
“I’m, I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that… my Uncles…”  
  
“Of course it’s got to do with those- Ah, well. What seems to be the problem now? I’m sure Mrs Dursley isn’t expecting you back yet.”  
  
“N-no, it’s just that she es-espets me with my cousin’s clothes, and, I don’t want the new clothes to be ruined, because you were so nice, Mr Holmes!”  
  
“Are they really so petty they wouldn’t accept you looking presentable even wearing someone else’s gift? No, no need to answer that, you’ll just have to change back into those rags before I take you back home then, we’ll keep your new clothes here, so that you may wear them the few times they’re needed.” One of Mr Holmes’ hands was caressing his cheek as he spoke, while the other sneaked between the soft fabric of his t-shirt and his skin, making him break in goosebumps all over. But Aunt Petunia would be expecting him back soon so he may help with dinner, and they didn’t have time to do the grown-up things they enjoyed so often.  
  
Of course Mr Holmes knew this as well, but if Harry had to change back into those tattered clothes just to keep the peace, then he would at least enjoy the process – diverting his attention from the boy’s relatives’ demeanour was also a very real need if he hoped to behave pleasantly at their next meeting. And what better way than to concentrate on the lovely, eager boy in front of him instead? He knew Harry was feeling apprehensive right now, but he was sure they could remedy that in no time.  
  
He circled the boy’s hips with an arm and hauled him closer, almost in his lap, so he could more comfortably remove the new t-shirt Harry was wearing. The moment it left the boy’s skin, Mr Holmes ceased to care about it; he proceeded to rub down the quivering muscles in his lapful’s back, nibbling on the soft skin of his neck just because he could.  
  
“S-sir… Now?” The boy’s fingers dug in the folds of his shirt.  
  
"No need to worry, Harry. I wouldn’t let you be late.” It wasn’t enough to relax the kid, but that’s why Mr Holmes kept caressing and massaging his body, kissing where he could reach, and soon the boy was just pliable enough. One of his hands reached around and took hold of the button on the boy’s trousers. It was the work of seconds to open it and lower the zip, then he heaved up the boy just enough to drag his trousers and pants down one-handed. It all took a fair amount of wiggling on Harry’s part, but neither minded. His Uncles’ likely poor reactions were a constant weight on the boy’s mind, but he knew he would have had to strip anyway, so…  
  
Mr Holmes kissed him again while the man’s hands mapped his body like he didn’t already know it better than anyone. He was naked and squirming in his neighbour’s arms, unsure of how to settle, what to do to please the man, for the first time in days and days. Because they couldn’t start something he found himself not knowing where to put his hands, where to hold to not spur the man on. As he shifted once again, Mr Holmes let go of his lips, tightened his hold around his hips and went on to bite at his shoulder, not strong enough to even pretend to be a reprimand.  
  
He nibbled on the skin but didn’t try to leave a mark, then he kissed the spot one last time and straightened, patting Harry’s side so the boy knew to scramble off his lap and the couch.  
  
It was clearly a signal to get ready to leave and go back to his relatives’, so Harry didn’t waste time mourning what he’d miss, comforted by the knowledge that he would soon return, and started to get dressed in his old clothes, yanking on the threadbare fabric carelessly.  
  
Mr Holmes helped him with his shoes even if he didn’t have to, kissed him one last time and took his hand to lead him outside. He tried very hard not to drag his feet because it wasn’t fair for Mr Holmes, but for some reason going back to the Dursleys that day felt even worse than the other days. Regardless, the man knocked and Aunt Petunia opened the door so he didn’t say anything. At least, seeing Aunt Petunia trying to hold in a scowl in front of a neighbour was moderately funny. She pasted on this stiff half-smile and dug her sharp nails in his shoulder when he crossed the door, then thanked Mr Holmes and that was it.  
  
He was led to the kitchen without another word, where Aunt Petunia had already laid out the ingredients for that day’s dinner and started puttering around right away, having him wash his hands with the dish soap before ordering him around in sharp tones that broke her other ways mumbled complaints about him and... an important dinner? The following night? He tried to listen very closely because he was always the last one to know things in the house and he couldn’t be sure that his relatives would tell him anything about this.  
  
So he helped prepare a large meal of which he ate a few leftovers after the Dursleys were done. Luckily he still felt full enough from everything Mr Holmes gave him. Honestly, he couldn’t remember a time in his life during which he had been fuller or more satisfied. As he was locked up in the cupboard again, after Dudley pushed him around a bit, he couldn’t wait for tomorrow’s breakfast at n. 3.  
  
Mr Holmes spoiled him and protected him in more ways than the man could know, but he had seen the difference in his Uncles’ behaviour since he started going over to his house. They couldn’t slap him around the face anymore, because it wasn’t like they could just hide him away now that another person expected to see him every day. And it seemed like ‘out of sight, out of mind’ had some truth to it, because not having him around all day seemed to make at least Aunt Petunia a little more relaxed.  
  
So, the next day he washes up, helps prepare breakfast for his relatives, and goes to Mr Holmes’.  
  


Now, regardless of what they said, there’s not much call for the new clothes, truly, because in the next few days Mr Holmes seems even more determined than usual to spend as much time as possible cuddling him, paying particular attention to his bottom for some reason. He licks him and ‘blows’ him, which Mr Holmes explained was the correct term for putting another man’s sex in your mouth which… Harry wouldn’t have guessed. He even put his fingers in his hole, fingers as in more than one! Sometimes it was a little uncomfortable but it never hurt and Mr Holmes was very nice and gentle. He soon became familiar with the feeling of the clear gel that the man used to slick the way.  
  
The result was that they spent more time naked than dressed, sharing sandwiches on the couch if Mr Holmes didn’t feel like cooking. Which meant that he suddenly had more clothes than he knew what to do with and, other than modelling them for Mr Holmes, no need for them. Because the first outfit is nowhere close to the last, and now Harry has a choice of them and a bright yellow t-shirt that is probably his favourite.  
  
That afternoon was only one of the instances where Harry put on clothes only to have them taken off him. Mr Holmes had settled between his legs and covered his hole with gel really quickly, and now Harry could only plant his feet on the mattress to help. It soon became clear that it wasn’t going to be one of the times Mr Holmes went slow and careful for so long Harry ended up trembling, the man stretched him out just enough for two fingers, which he moved around almost perfunctorily before removing them and cleaning them on the towel.  
  
“I’d like you to try something.”  
  
Harry could only pant, the quick job leaving him trembling with unfulfilled potential, teased but unsatisfied.  
  
Mr Holmes pressed his hands to the backs of his thighs and spread his legs open and in the air.  
  
“Go on now, try and feel yourself.” Harry needed a moment to understand what the man was asking of him, then he flushed bright red, but barely hesitated as he lowered his right hand from where it was gripping the sheets. He touched his little cock first, an enjoyable sensation even if it didn’t bring those jolts of pleasure that Mr Holmes’ touch elicited, but he went further down, passed by his balls and brushed his fingertips on his little hole – it was wet and wrinkly, and he didn’t really know why Mr Holmes paid so much attention to it, but it did feel… kind of nice, caressing it like that.  
  
“There you go. Now try to go in, just a bit.” It was weird if he thought about it, but when he did try to push the tip of his finger in it went more smoothly than he would have expected.  
  
“Ooh...” He was soft on the inside and Mr Holmes was staring at him even more intently than usual – well, staring at his hole, really. As he moved his finger, just a tiny bit, Mr Holmes bent down even more, he was so close that when he breathed out, hot air blew over Harry’s skin. A little more of his finger slid inside.  
  
“There you go, now in and out, in and out.” So Harry mimicked Mr Holmes’ usual movements, slowly at first, then the man squeezed a little more gel right on top of his moving fingers and Harry could go even more smoothly. He picked up the speed because he thought Mr Holmes may like it and soon he could hear what was going on, even if he couldn’t see it. He would have flushed if it’d been possible, as it was, he had been red and hot for what felt like hours and he could only turn his head to try and hide from the squelching sounds his finger was making as he pushed and moved it into his own backside. He squeezed shut his eyes, he could almost pretend-  
  
But he startled and opened his eyes wide when he felt Mr Holmes’ tongue lick over his finger and then actually enter his hole alongside it. Which, almost impossibly, made him come without a touch to his little cock. He yelped, maybe screamed a little, and then his body went lax on the sheets, all energy seeped out of him. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but he was suddenly so tired... The bed so comfy...  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy whatever-you-celebrate! Or have a nice December if you don't celebrate any religious/traditional/commercial holiday ^^


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